


XV

by Crowgirl



Series: Welcoming Silences [17]
Category: Foyle's War
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Awkwardness, Breakfast, Domestic, M/M, Slow Burn, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-25 01:48:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4941970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paul should really stop saying thank you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	XV

‘Tea.’ Foyle pushes a mug across the table to him and turns back to the kitchen counter.

Paul slides into a chair. ‘Thanks.’

‘Toast’ll just be another minute. Did you sleep well?’

‘Yes.’ Paul takes a sip of tea and adds, ‘Thank you.’ 

Foyle turns back around with a rack of toast in one hand and a plate with a small pat of butter in the other. ‘You can stop thanking me.’

‘Right.’ Paul breaks a bit of toast in half and looks at it. There are too many questions -- too many problems that need solving -- too many problems that need _creating_ maybe -- this is all very, very _normal_ and he can feel himself relaxing, leaning back into the chair, thinking about whether he should butter his toast or not. The room is warm and quiet and smells pleasantly of fresh tea and burned bread crumbs and he _wants_ to be here and, when he glances up across the table at Foyle, he has to look down again almost immediately for fear Foyle will be able to read his face.

‘Oh, and I’ve got some jam--’ Foyle makes a long arm and pulls a half-pint stoneware jar off the counter. ‘Raspberry, I think. Sam brought it from her last visit home.’

‘Good of her.’ Paul twists off the lid, spoons some of the jam onto the dry bread, and then stares at that.

‘Did you have plans for today?’ Foyle asks.

Paul shakes his head. ‘Nothing special. Why?’ It occurs to him as soon as he asks that, of course, Foyle would like his house back. He had invited Paul for a drink not a weekend and he’s outstayed that by hours. He takes a hasty sip of tea -- it’s hot, strong, and black -- and prepares to make the quickest polite excuse he can in order to get himself out of here and back to his own house.

Foyle nods. ‘I was going to finish weeding out the garden.’ He pauses and, when Paul says nothing, adds, ‘I foolishly left the worst half for the last.’ He pauses again and busies himself adding sugar to his tea, saying, ‘It’s a two-person job really.’

Paul glances up at his face for a brief moment and tries to judge. Is he being asked to repay his bed and breakfast? Does Foyle honestly need help with a job too big for him? He realises he’s staring after a minute, trying to catalog the minute details of Foyle’s expression and add them up to something, and forces himself to look back down at his cup, picking up his toast and taking a bite. ‘Would you like help?’

He makes the offer as neutrally as he can, leaving it open so Foyle can make it clear he’d rather be on his own.

‘Thanks. That’s very kind.’ 

Paul nods, grateful for the mouthful of toast that lets him say nothing. He swallows and takes another sip of tea and hopes his face isn’t giving away the steady glow of warmth in his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> And a multitude of thanks to my beta readers [elizajane](http://archiveofourown.org/users/elizajane) and [Kivrin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kivrin).


End file.
